Becoming Mom To The Billionaire Daughter

THIRD PERSON POV Mr. Wolfe’s voice thundered through the phone as he snapped, “What the hell do you mean Diane made the caretaker from France insane? She’s an eight-year-old child!” Dana Ellis winced on the other end, trying all possible ways to defend herself. “Sir, believe me, it wasn’t my fault. She kept live lizards in her purse, and when she saw them, she couldn’t help but shriek and run straight out of the mansion,” she explained, panic flaring in her tone. Shawn pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, exhaling hard. “Dana, look, I don’t care how you do it—just get a new caretaker before I come downstairs. Otherwise, you’ll be the one doing her laundry.” He ended the call abruptly, leaving Dana cursing under her breath as she dropped her phone. “Damn it. Where in this city am I supposed to find a caretaker in under five hours? If I don’t, I’ll be the one washing her dishes.” She wandered back and forth, thinking hard, until her frustration vanished when she spotted a dusty applicant archive from years back in Mr. Shawn’s study. She flipped through pages of résumés until one name caught her fancy. Rennie Brooks. A recommendation letter from Saint Mary’s Orphanage was clipped to the top, handwritten in bold strokes: “Kind. Patient. Remarkably good with children who test boundaries.” Dana smirked. “Bingo,” as the call connected. RENNIE'S POV The phone vibrated in my hand, flashing a private number. I squinted. “If this is another scammer calling for me to invest in their Ponzi scheme, I swear—” Before I could finish my rant, a woman’s voice came through, calm and professional. “Good afternoon. This is Dana Ellis, assistant to Mr. Shawn Wolfe. I’m calling with a job offer. You were referred by Saint Mary’s Orphanage Home.” This sounded too good to be true. Renowned businessmen didn’t hire ordinary people—they hired top-notch professionals, not someone trying to budget a hundred dollars for a five-day feeding plan. I blinked, ready to answer sarcastically. “Okay… well, this is Rapunzel calling from the mystical tower. How may I grant your wishes?” “Huh, I just told you who I am,” the caller announced, irritation flaring in her tone. I was less concerned, my index finger already at the hang-up button, when a message suddenly popped up on my screen: The caller is requesting a video call. This still felt like a prank. I mean, come on—it’s L.A. And who the hell calls from a private number about a job offer? Eventually, curiosity got the best of me, so I had to pick it up. My jaw dropped when I saw it. The screen filled with the view of The Wolfe Estate—the kind of mansion that filled luxury magazines. Golden gates. Sculpted fountains. Sunlight glinting off sleek black cars. It was all real. I sat up straighter on the park bench, brushing invisible crumbs from my thrift blouse. “I… I’m sorry,” I stammered. “You just caught me off guard.” Dana didn’t seem to care; she rolled her eyes sarcastically and continued. “Mr. Wolfe’s daughter is in need of a live-in caretaker. You’ll handle her meals, studies, and daily supervision.” “Wait. So… a nanny?” “Not just a nanny. A live-in housekeeper and companion. Full access. Plus housing, transport—and well compensated.” I blinked. “How well?” I tried to sound casual, but deep down I knew if it was $2,000, I would be ready. “Six figures annually,” Dana uttered without flinching. I almost dropped my phone, recalling her words. “Six figures? Like—actual numbers?” “Yes. But there’s one thing—Mr. Wolfe is extremely selective. He doesn’t tolerate incompetence.” Of course he didn’t. Billionaires never do. I looked around the park—at my one overstuffed backpack, my whole life packed inside, my pride hanging by a thread. “When do I start?” “Five hours. Be here before Mr. Wolfe comes downstairs.” And just like that, the line went dead. ARRIVAL AT THE WOLFE MANSION Three hours later, my cab stopped in front of the Wolfe Estate. I now stood in front of a golden-black iron gate so tall it could block out heaven’s light. The driver gawked at the house like it might walk away. “You sure this is the right place? People like you don’t usually get invited to places like this.” I glared at him. “People like me just paid you. Drive.” He drove off laughing while I stood there, adjusting my bag strap and trying to breathe. “Okay, Rennie,” I muttered. “Confidence. Grace. Don’t faint. Don’t touch anything shiny.” I pressed the massive doorbell. “State your name,” a robotic voice commanded. “Rennie Brooks. I’m here to see Mr. Wolfe.” A pause. Then the gates groaned open like the start of a horror movie. My heart pounded in rhythm with my footsteps. Inside, marble steps gleamed, fountains sparkled, and staff moved with silent precision. Everything looked expensive. Then came her—Dana Ellis. The woman from the call, only ten times more intimidating in person. Tailored gray suit. Perfect posture. Not a single hair out of place. “You’re early,” she said, eyes flicking over me. “Good. Mr. Wolfe values punctuality.” “I took the first cab I could find. Didn’t want to risk being late.” She nodded once—approving but not impressed. “Follow me.” Inside, the mansion was warm but intimidating. Dark wood floors. Modern art. Minimal, expensive. It didn’t smell like home. It smelled like new money and old expectations. Dana led me to a sitting room. “Wait here. He’ll be down shortly.” I sat on the edge of a white sofa, afraid to wrinkle the perfection. My fingers played with the hem of my thrift blouse, anxiety gnawing at me. Then I heard footsteps. Measured. Heavy. Confident. Shawn Wolfe entered the room like he owned the air in it. Tall. Built. Power practically radiated off him. Dark tailored suit, darker eyes, and a physique that belonged in a magazine. He stopped across from me, hands in his pockets, appraising me like a stock option. “Miss Brooks,” he said, voice low and smooth. “You come highly recommended.” “Thank you, sir.” “Don’t call me sir. Mr. Shawn is fine.” I nodded, butterflies swirling in my stomach. “I don’t like strangers around my daughter. Why should I let you stay?” Straight to the point. No warm-up. “Because I’m not just a babysitter,” I said. “I understand kids—their needs and feelings—and I’m multifunctional. I can play the role of both babysitter and professional housekeeper.” The Chicago flirty guts in me almost made me say wife and mother, but I had to tame it. For a flicker of a moment, something passed through his eyes—something that looked like "she’s making sense." “And what makes you think you can handle those roles?” “Because I’m not afraid to try—and I’ve got years of experience working as both a babysitter and a housekeeper.” He studied me—his eyes scanning me like a detector. I didn’t look away. Finally, he nodded once. “She’s upstairs. Dana will show you the room. You start now.” Just like that, I had a job. Just like that, I stepped into the lion’s den. THE GUEST ROOM The “normal guest room” turned out to be a suite. An actual suite. Cream-colored everything. A walk-in closet. A private bathroom with a rainfall shower. I tried not to look impressed, since Dana was standing outside. After Dana left, I sat on the bed and exhaled. I checked everything, even played with the shower knob, then peeked into drawers filled with luxury lotions, which I was definitely planning to sneak home on my next break. What the hell had I just agreed to? Uhm, let me guess? A one-way ticket out of poverty. This all sounded like fun with absolutely no risk, until curiosity started creeping in. What kind of father was ready to pay millions for his daughter, and most importantly, what kind of child could drive twenty nannies away in one week? That was when I heard it—a laugh. High-pitched. Mischievous. The kind that sent chills down your spine and promised trouble. I followed the sound down the hallway until I stopped at a pastel door with DIANE painted in golden cursive letters. I took a deep breath, straightened my blouse, and pushed the door open. And what I saw next… was something words could barely describe.